Broken Smiles and Goodbyes
by Tuppence
Summary: There's the real truth that nobody knows, and there's the truth that everyone knows from their own point of view. This is Esme's truth, starting with when she becomes a vampire, falling instantly in love with guilty golden eyes... R
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer****: **I don't own Twilight or any of its sequels.

**Author's note****:** This story is inspired by Breaking Point by Sugarbucket. It's one of the best stories I have ever come across, and whilst my plot, characterisation and writing style may all be different, with different intentions, it was whilst reading that story that I was inspired to write this. After all, how often do we read things from Esme's point of view? I really hope you like it. Please review to tell me what you think, be it positive or negative. The title of the story comes from Marroon 5's song, She Will Be Loved. "look for the girl with the broken smile...please don't try so hard to say goodbye". That song will also set the tone for my favourite Twilight pairing. I won't tell you which one it is, but I'm sure you'll be able to guess after the relative characters are introduced.

Broken Smiles and Goodbyes

Chapter 1

The fortunate few died one death, one mere mortal death, moving onto whatever happened after that, be it heaven, hell or nothing at all. I, on the other hand, could count on my fingers the deaths I had suffered through. The first was the death of my innocence, the first time that my husband had lifted his hand and left his mark on my face. It was the first time that I realised that the husband who could love me so tenderly could also hit me so ruthlessly. It killed the innocent view of the world I had held, as one where a husband cherished his wife and loved her regardless of her foibles and foolishness. No husband did that. At the least, _mine _didn't.

The second was the death of my self-respect, the first time my husband forced himself onto me when I didn't want it. This time, the mark left was much deeper and darker, though it left no visible sign. From thereafter, I never resisted when my husband wanted his way; who was I to say no? If I had no rights lawfully, I could hardly have them according to morality. Such logic didn't stop the guilt or disgust I felt afterwards. Used, abused and unable to stop any of it from happening, because I believed it was completely my fault.

The next death I suffered was the death of my life. I left my husband, the love I felt for my son and the _fear_ I felt on his behalf outweighing any desire to stay with my violent husband. When I left him, I left my social standing, my status, and any friends and family I had ever known. I left any friends I could have ever made; women who left their husbands were not respected, were not accepted and were seen as almost equivalent to the women of the nights. It was the most merciful of all the deaths I had suffered. Perhaps in virtue of this, it led to the worst death of all, when my son died. I suffered the death of all my hopes. With the death of my son went any salvation I could have imagined or wished for. With his death went all the reasons for leaving my husband and the life I was accustomed to. With my son went all the love I could have ever expected after my shameless conduct, so, naturally, I thought mortal death should follow.

It was with this thought in mind that I had flung myself from the cliffs, terrified yet relieved that my mortal coil was coming to an end. It did end but not in the way I had expected. The pain I felt at the time was agonising, I remember thinking that. But try as I might, I could not recall the pain I felt then, for the pain I was feeling now was beyond comparison. It made the previous fall feel like being hit with feathers. This pain I was feeling now was true agony, burns spreading through my blood, my heart hurting a little more with each futile beat, my muscles tensing as if attempting to escape the pain and this was but a fraction of what I actually felt.

I knew I was in hell. What else could hurt so much? Why else could I still recall my son dying? Why else could I recall memories of my husband kissing me tenderly side by side with memories of him killing my innocence and slaughtering my self-respect? This had to be hell. There was nothing else it could be. I wondered whether I was being punished for the death of my child or for leaving my husband. Maybe I was being punished for being merely a woman. That would not have surprised me in the least; it had often seemed to me that were men able to conceive children by themselves, there would be no need for us women. It didn't seem improbable that God felt the same way. Life had not dealt me a kind hand and life was governed by God, after all.

Words seemed to be penetrating my pain now. Was this a new form of torture? Feigning sanity in my mind only for the torture to continue endlessly? But I could almost believe that the pain was lessening slightly. Such futile thoughts, my mind straining to hold onto the very last shreds hope that I had thought I had given up; I hoped I had given up. But it was there, struggling to make sense of words that were floating through the pain, labouring to push the pain away, just a tiny, minuscule bit at a time.

One word seemed to penetrate through the chasm of pain I had fallen into, just one word – _you_. I wondered who could be talking to me, a demon or an angel. An angel seemed unlikely but the voice felt like velvet, soothing and comforting nonetheless, demanding trust and exuding dreams of deliverance. How much more damned could I be?

Yet the pain was lessening and words were beginning to converge into something somewhat resembling a sentence. If I strained hard enough, it could almost make sense. Almost, but not quite. I was only able to catch seemingly random words; _over_, _pain_. I could rationalise reasons for such words to be uttered to me, be it demon or angel, yet one word, repeatedly more often than others could not so be rationalised; the word that my mind seemed to cling onto more strongly than any other word. _Sorry_. I could think of nothing that could sufficiently explain such words being uttered to me; _by _me was more than possible, it was understandable, but why would a demon apologise for my just deserts? The possibility that an angel could say so to me was even more ridiculous.

Yet there it was, spoken again and again, and yet again, in that same smooth voice that seemed to cleanse and balm my pain.

For a moment, the thought flashed into my mind that I wasn't in hell, that I wasn't damned. Just as swiftly, I dismissed the idea. Women like me were not worthy of heaven, and that was the only other option.

I could feel tingling now, tingling in my fingers. The pain truly was lessening; of this I was now certain. I shut my eyes tightly, terrified of what I might see or might not... My mind was in chaos. I wasn't in hell but what else could cause such pain? I could come up with nothing reasonable in response. Words drifted into my mind that had been uttered by the velvet voice. Vampire; demon; monster but these were stories told to children. The more my pain lessened, the tighter I closed my eyes until eventually there was nothing but a feeling of pleasant calm resting over my whole body. Reluctantly, I decided to open my eyes. After all, I could not spend the rest of eternity lying here with my eyes closed. I opened my eyes only to have them assailed by the most puissant sight that had ever been their fortune or misfortune to behold – a pair of guilty golden eyes staring down at me with guilty hope.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer****: **I don't own Twilight.

**Author's note****:** Finally, the second chapter is up. I thought I'd take a slightly different take on Esme's reaction to Edward than the usual; tell me if it's convincing. I wanted their bonding to be slightly different from what is typically expected.

Broken Smiles and Goodbyes

Chapter II

I blinked in surprise at the golden hue of the kindly pair of eyes. How could they be so...golden? No other colour came close to describing the colour but I had never seen eyes so gold and _loving_. Certainly not my husband's.

Another blink brought his face into focus. And I remembered. This face was familiar, more familiar than it should have been. I remembered him from when I had to go to the doctor and his had been the only kindly face of the time. I was in disgrace with my family for my hoydenish behaviour and, as always, I was susceptible enough to the feelings around me to be upset. Doctor Cullen's face had been the first one to smile at me in days, and talk to me gently. And from that one meeting, his face had been forever imprinted in my mind as the ideal man. I had given myself the liberty to endow him with every virtue I could think of and every vice I found attractive, and, having never met him more than once, that notion of an ideal man had never suffered from the restraints of reality.

My husband could never have lived up to the image of Doctor Cullen in my mind but unfortunately, nor could he live up to the image of a decent man. Or maybe it was a fortunate circumstance, considering who was looking down at me, hints of relief showing through an otherwise impassive face.

I opened my mouth – to say what, even I didn't know – but it was overwhelming. A myriad of scents, so strong that they could have been flavours, assailed me and I was left dizzy. Questions of heaven and hell jostled with each other in my mind, and yet, no words could leave my lips, despite how ardently I wanted to ask these questions, have them answered.

"Neither."

Just as my dizzy spell was lessening, this noise introduced an entirely different variety of dizziness, one caused by such subtleties between sounds that overpowered my mind. And, beneath my senses swimming achingly and my utter confusion over how and why everything seemed so devastating, I wondered who they were talking to.

"To you," The voice sounded impatient now. "It's neither heaven, nor hell."

Those kind golden eyes now took on a look of concern. To a woman used to cruelty and unkindness, such concern could not but be welcome and beloved, and I wondered how I could have ever thought this hell.

"Esme..." My name sounded beautiful when spoken in a voice of wind chimes, though Doctor Cullen sounded uncertain. I opened my mouth to speak but I didn't know what to say. 'Yes, it's me' sounded foolish. 'What?' would sound ungrateful. What words could express the emotions I myself couldn't decipher? I contented myself with a blink, a nod and what felt like a tentative smile on my lips. Doctor Cullen now looked openly uncertain, his emotions failing to be disguised in the least.

"Yes?" My voice startled me to such an extent that it took me seconds to realise it was my own voice, and not that of some mythical being. It was beautiful. There was a musical quality in it that had never been there before, each letter sounding like a song in itself. Good god, what had I become?

"A bloodsucker," the voice was calculatedly cold and emotionless. It took seconds for the words to register...and when they did, if I had bile, it would have risen up my throat. As it was, only a gagging sound passed my lips, somehow still sounding attractive and producing a panic that I found hard to contain.

"Esme, it's ok," Doctor Cullen's voice was soothing in its lies. His golden hued eyes glanced in a different direction and back at me, and I felt the vibrations from my lips trembling as I tried to comprehend that I had turned into a monster. I couldn't. How could such beautiful creatures be creatures of the damned? How could such kind eyes bring death and destruction to innocent people?

An emotion assailed me and, sensing how overpowering it would be in moments, I laid my head back and closed my eyes. _Innocent people..._ And it came to me, visions of my husband, uncaring, unloving, jeering, hurting, distant, cold. Hurting people didn't seem an act of evil; innocent people seemed like a myth, dreamt about rather than the reality of the world I had lived in. And I knew we weren't monsters, not in the least. We were more than humans were, and yet we had all their weaknesses that their emotions represented. We were merely powerful humans, as such. And such loving ones, I thought, as Carlisle continued to look down at me with such touching concern.

I knew I loved him then. At this precise moment, I knew that I had loved him all my life since our one chance encounter and my love only grew as I saw this concern and I knew that I could never stop loving him, no matter who came or what happened. He would be my husband in all essentials but the legal requirement. He would be my husband and I would be his wife and the happy family I never got as a mere ordinary human, I would now get having become something more than a human but not the monster the voice kept telling me we were.

There was a snort now. The kind of snort I was used to, indicative of derision and a total absence of respect. My eyes turned to seek out who this could be when I saw him; a boy, nothing but a young boy. His eyes narrowed as they looked at me and his mouth seemed to grimace but I looked at him unabashedly. What was there for me to be shy of? He was nothing but a little boy – an insolent, spoilt little boy, from what I'd heard of him so far. And what in the world was he doing here, anyway? How could Doctor Cullen bear to have him around?

Nothing but an insolent, spoilt little boy...the words danced in my head. They almost danced in front of my eyes as I interestedly watched the boy's nostrils flare in anger, his face seeming to become ever more rigid, ever less human. Nothing but an insolent, spoilt little boy...

"Nothing but a crazy, pathetic woman," he said, in a carefully modulated voice, showing no hint of emotion except in his choice of words.

"Edward!" Doctor Cullen's voice expressed shock and disapproval, and certain emotions I couldn't quite decipher. I was surprised by its intensity – he'd been nothing but civil and polite to me in the past and now and this intensity was new. I looked again at this boy, now scowling and looking down. Who was this boy that could make Doctor Cullen speak so...emotionally? I didn't like him, I decided.

"Esme," Doctor Cullen's voice was quiet now, soothing in its tone and it irritated me. "I'm sure you have questions, many, many questions. And I'll try and answer them for you. But first, you must be thirsty."

The irritation that his soothing tone had caused and the presence of the insolent, spoilt little boy remained, and I opened my mouth to deny any thirst when I found a sensation I couldn't explain. It hurt like something had been rubbed raw and yet, where this pain was, I couldn't have said.

"I'll take her hunting," the insolent, spoilt boy said, looking away from me and straight at Doctor Cullent. As if I had no choice in this matter, I thought resentfully. "Come." He beckoned with a certainty that I loathed, and again, I opened to deny the thirst when Doctor Cullen's hands found mine and he helped me into a sitting position.

"Come." The insolent, spoilt boy said again, this time with impatience. "Don't be scared."

I wanted to tell him that I feared nothing; that the things I'd suffered and gone through he couldn't even imagine but the word 'hunting' repeated itself in my head, time and again, each time penetrating into some place deeper. What had I become? What were these people? Were we just monsters?

"Come." He said again, but this time, there was something else in his voice. Sympathy or pity? I couldn't determine which it was but nevertheless, I followed him, trying desperately to deny my fear to myself.


End file.
